


Paroxysm

by darkrosaleen



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, Goodsir's good bedside manner, Large Cock, M/M, Medical Kink, bottom Collins, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 20:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19933861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrosaleen/pseuds/darkrosaleen
Summary: Dr. Stanley has diagnosed Collins with hysteria due to his troublesome melancholia. Harry Goodsir is the only man for the job.





	Paroxysm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=165004#cmt165004) delightful kink meme prompt.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor, I'm afraid I misheard you. You've diagnosed Mr. Collins with what?"

Stanley shot Harry a withering look. "Hysteria, Goodsir. I trust a learned man such as yourself is familiar with the affliction."

Harry's face felt hot, and he couldn't tell whether it was from the insult or the diagnosis. "Of course, sir, I just. I didn't expect to see such a case on a naval ship with an entirely male crew."

Stanley slammed his book shut. "While it is more common among the fair sex, it is by no means exclusive to them. It is not an affliction of the womb as the Greeks believed, rather a disorder of the mind leading to melancholia, nervousness, insomnia, and irritability." This last word came out strained. "Such troublesome insubordination is just as foul in a man as a woman, if not more so. Have you treated the condition before, Goodsir?"

Harry shook his head. "No, Doctor. I've only witnessed it once, when I was assisting Doctor Wilson's practice in Edinburgh."

The events of that day had tested the limits of Harry's professional demeanor. A young man of twenty, unpracticed in the arts of love, Harry had never seen a woman in such heightened erotic frenzy. The tremble of Mrs. Simpson's legs, the soft sounds escaping her throat, the sight and _smell_ of the fluids drenching the doctor's hand. Dear God, the thoughts it provoked in Harry were not fit for a man of science.

Stanley stood up and handed him the notebook. "That'll have to do. Mr. Collins is due to arrive at four, please see to it that treatment is administered. I have more important matters to attend to."

Harry's heart leapt into his throat. "Sir, you want me to—you're having me administer the—that is, with a male patient, is the treatment equal to that of a woman?"

Stanley laughed, although there was little humor in it. "Yes, although the male member is much less troublesome to work with. Hysterical paroxysm is equivalent to the release of seminal fluid in men. Please be thorough, Goodsir, I would hate to have you waste time repeating the procedure."

Harry swallowed hard. "Yes, right. I'll make sure that Mr. Collins is…taken care of." That was the point of this, in the end. To soothe Mr. Collins' distressing ailment and make him healthy and whole. Improper thoughts would only get in the way of this noble task.

-

As soon as Collins sat down on the exam table, it was easy to see the symptoms. The tightness in his movements, the stormy expression on his face, the angry flush and rapid breathing. Henry Collins was agitated, and Harry could only assume that Stanley's diagnosis wasn't helping matters.

"Well then." Harry reflexively extended his hand, then pulled it back when all he got was a stony glare. "I'm sure Dr. Stanley has briefed you on the particulars of your treatment?"

Collins huffed in what might have been laughter. "He said you're going to—to frig me, like I'm some troublesome housewife."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the corrections died on his tongue. Collins was obviously unwell, whether the cause was his diagnosed condition or some other distress of the mind. He needed compassion, not chastisement. 

Slowly, Harry pulled a chair up to the table and sat down. "Have you been having trouble sleeping, Mr. Collins? Do you find yourself lying awake in the dark, agitated from racing thoughts and racing pulse as if you'd just woken from a nightmare?"

Collins looked down at the floor and gave a small nod.

"And on those terrible nights, have you ever taken…indelicate steps to ease your stress? With your hand? You would hardly be the first. Personally, I can't think of it as a sin when we are so far from the mere possibility of female companionship."

Collins' mouth quirked slightly. "I suppose I have, sir. As all men do in such times." 

_Almost there_ , Harry though. "Well, then, think of this as the same. By stimulating physical agitation and release, you can purge those impulses and leave the body in a state of relaxation."

Collins stared at the floor for a long moment before lifting his head. "Have you sought that kind of release, sir?" He sounded genuinely curious. Although Harry's face flamed with heat, it felt wrong to lie in this quiet room, when he was asking Collins to literally lay himself bare.

"Indeed," Harry said with a nod. "The nights here are long and frightfully dark. A man needs the warmth of human touch, even if he can't get it from the usual channels." Not that Harry had frequented the usual channels—his current isolation was more familiar than he would like to admit. He didn't think it made the loneliness any easier to bear.

Collins was still watching him curiously. Harry noticed that he had large, very dark eyes, and was struck with the sudden realization that Mrs. Simpson in Edinburgh had as well. "Do you think it will help you too, Doctor? Touching me."

The question was so unexpected that Harry laughed softly. "I, er. Yes, I suppose it does help, using one's hands to provide comfort and healing. It helps quite a lot."

Collins smiled, and Harry thought that it was the loveliest thing he'd seen all day. "Good. That's good. Shall I undress now?"

Harry nodded. He busied himself checking the door, even though he was confident it was already locked. Then he scattered and restacked the papers on his desk. 

By the time he turned back to the exam table, Collins had pushed his trousers down to his ankles, revealing solid thighs and an even more solid cock. His thighs were paler than his face, covered with thick black curls and broad with muscle from physical exertion. His cock was standing erect, veined and dark-flushed and curving up slightly towards his belly. It was undoubtedly one of the largest on _Erebus_. 

"Oh," Harry said, his voice sounding odd in his own ears. "Right. On to it, then." He carefully wrapped his fingers around the shaft, noting with breathless fascination how its thickness filled his grip. Harry reminded himself that this was a medical procedure, that the swoop in his stomach at the large, well-formed organ in his hand was merely scientific curiosity.

He slid his grip upwards, squeezing the thick, dark cockhead, and Collins gripped the table and let out a sharp breath. Harry's pulse was heavy between his legs, and he knew that this was exactly the kind of test he had faced in Edinburgh.

Harry stroked up and down, then up and down again, setting a gentle rhythm. It was slower than the way he liked to stroke himself, more like the sleepy warm-up touches he gave himself upon first waking. "Is this good?" Harry asked, as if he couldn't see every line of Collins' body responding to his touch.

"Mm," Collins said. He had his eyes closed, and his face tensed and relaxed along with Harry's strokes. His hands fidgeted with the exposed hem of his shirt. "Feels good. You've got soft hands."

Harry blushed. "Thank you. I think a soft touch is undervalued in this profession, personally." 

Collins bit his lip to stifle a laugh, and Harry was struck with the sudden impulse to put his finger—or something else, good lord—to that soft lip and feel it give beneath his touch. "I'm glad Dr. Stanley delegated this task to you. It is much more…agreeable, to me."

Agreeable was one word for it. Collins' prick was as stiff as iron in Harry's grip, and it didn't take long before clear fluid was beading at the slit, dripping down and slicking Harry's hand. 

Collins was breathing in the slow, deep pattern of someone trying to remain calm, but the coarse sound of it betrayed the vulgarity of their current actions. Harry found his own prick reacting to the sound, despite having listened attentively to the breathing of countless men without such a crude response.

"Can you unbutton your shirt, please?" Harry said, finding it difficult to speak steadily. "I'd like to examine your heart to check if my methods are, well. Working." This could be done by simply taking the pulse, but a small anxious part of Harry wanted to know if some undiscovered defect of the heart made this treatment dangerous. A smaller, even more anxious part wished to see and hear every bit of Collins' arousal for himself. _Scientific curiosity_ , he told himself again.

Collins nodded and began undoing his buttons with thick, clumsy fingers. His shirt parted to reveal a broad chest, just as hairy as the rest of him.

Not wanting to abandon his post to search for a stethoscope, Harry ducked down and laid his ear directly on that well-furred chest. The distinct smell of Collins' body was stronger here, and the heart sounds were strong and healthy, but faster than the pace of his breathing would indicate.

"Sound good?" Collins asked, his deep voice resonating through his chest against Harry's ear. Harry stood back up and returned his attention to the main task, feeling inexplicably flustered.

"Yes, quite good. You're a strong man with a strong heart, Mr. Collins." 

He picked up the pace a little, rubbing his palm over the head, and Collins took a deep shaky breath. "It may help to let your mind wander. Perhaps there's a pretty lass you left in England, or an experience you had in the past. Something that arouses the blood more than lying in a sickbay being worked over by a medical assistant."

Harry tended to babble when nervous, and to throw out unfiltered reassurances to comfort someone who was in distress. He certainly didn't expect Collins to give him a small, secretive smile and speak. 

"The pretty lad I left in England was training to be a doctor. So my last experience was very much like this one."

Harry froze and glanced up at Collins' face. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you admit that," he said carefully. 

Collins was watching him back, his dark gaze unflinching. "I didn't think you'd tell anyone, sir. Not with how hard you're getting from touching another man's prick."

Shameful panic washed over Harry, followed by the slow burning heat of being seen and understood. He nodded firmly. "We have each other's trust, Mr. Collins. What happens in this room shall never leave it." He returned to his strokes, noticing that Collins' erection hadn't flagged in the slightest. If anything, he seemed to be breathing faster and squirming more, a dark flush climbing up his neck.

"His name was Ned." Collins was starting to sound strained. "We both had proclivities, as such. He would examine me under the pretense of anatomy practice. Have me undress and then touch me everywhere, to see what response I had. Much like you did just then, with your head on my chest."

Harry let out a choked laugh. "Would be much nicer than the standard anatomy practice, I admit. You're a much more pleasing patient than a moldy old corpse."

That made Collins smile. "It was thrilling, lying there and letting him do those things to me. Being watched and touched. Most mollies wanted me to do the touching, you see."

Images flooded Harry's mind: Collins fucking a strange molly in a dark alley, or laid out on an exam table being touched and teased by a handsome medical student. "Those men are foolish, I think. Anyone would want to touch a man as handsome as you."

That drew the first proper noise out of Collins, a soft moan that he quickly stifled by biting the side of his hand. Almost without thinking, Harry reached up and tugged Collins' wrist away from his mouth. "No, I like to hear the noises you make. You can tell me more about Ned if you like. What was your favorite thing to do with him?"

Collins gasped, hips jerking under Harry's grip. "He would…oh, it's hard to say aloud. He'd examine me inside, with his fingers. I've never felt anything so exquisite. He made me spend once, just from that, without frigging my cock at all. No wonder the molly boys like buggery so much."

Now Harry was the one biting down an undignified moan. "I can do that for you. I've done it before, although to a quite different purpose." He'd never performed a rectal examination on an enthusiastic patient, although men sometimes stirred involuntarily in the process.

"Please," Collins begged, spreading his big thighs to expose himself. His hole twitched hungrily when Harry pressed his finger to it, slowly rubbing it open. 

"That's good," Harry said, carefully pushing a single finger past the tight ring of muscle. "You're doing very good, opening up for me like this." 

Collins moaned again. "I feel quite whorish, spreading my legs for you." His eyes crinkled in another small smile, and Harry stomach fluttered. The man had a surprising talent for speaking filth, one that Harry wished terribly to explore further.

"There's no shame in this," Harry said, following a thread laid down by Collins in his earlier story. "Many men become erect when the prostate is stimulated." He punctuated this by pressing his fingers into the gland in question, causing Collins to buck his hips and gasp sharply. "Just relax, Mr. Collins. Your examination is almost done."

Indeed, Collins was very close to the brink, his whole body tense and his breathing agitated. His fingers gripped the sides of the table, and he watched Harry's hands on his body with dark eyes, his face and neck flushed red. His cock was red too, the swollen head exposed and dripping shiny pre-ejaculate. It throbbed heavy and hot with the same pulse Harry felt inside him.

Another finger stretched Collins a bit, and he apparently liked the sensation, clenching down on Harry's fingers and letting out another choked groan. Harry increased his speed, fucking Collins at the same punishing pace with which he tugged on his cock. 

"I want to see you," Harry blurted, blushing when those dark eyes turned on him again. "I mean, I need to observe your release. Try to relax and let go."

A few more seconds of jerking and thrusting brought Collins there, back arched as that magnificent cock pulsed and spent all over his chest. He collapsed on the table with a loud sigh, covered hip to chest in his own jism and looking utterly, beautifully debauched. 

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was Collins' ragged breathing. He seemed to forget Harry's presence for a moment, sprawled on his back and staring up at the ceiling.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked. He could hear the nervous disposition returning to his voice. It was as if the spirit of some bold Casanova had overtaken him in the heat of passion, only to abandon him to deal with the aftermath.

"Very relaxed. I feel like I could sleep for a month." Collins lifted his head to look up the table at Harry, his eyes going immediately to the obvious bulge in Harry's trousers. "You're—I can fix that, if you'd like. I've been told I'm good with my mouth."

Harry dug his nails hard into his palms. What Collins was proposing was absolutely illegal and immoral, a violation of medical ethics and a risk to both of their skins. But the arctic was dark and terrible, and Henry Collins had a smile bright enough to do battle against it.

"You're wrong," Harry said, stepping toward the head of the exam table and reaching for his buttons. "Confusion is a sadly common symptom of your condition. You are not relaxed, and you cannot sleep, so I recommend you continue with this course of treatment until I start to see improvement." Harry pushed his trousers down.

Collins smiled. "Whatever you say, Doctor," he said, slipping down from the table and onto his knees.


End file.
